


Domestic Economy

by branwyn



Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Holmesian family dynamics, Martin is the littlest Holmes, Sherlock is an eccentric but caring brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-05
Updated: 2012-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-03 02:18:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/branwyn/pseuds/branwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every week, when Martin checks his bank account, there's an extra fifty quid that shouldn't be there.</p><p> </p><p>For this meme prompt: http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/3282.html?thread=3720914#cmt3720914</p>
            </blockquote>





	Domestic Economy

"This was you, wasn't it?"

John looks up from his paper, startled. He hadn't heard the bell ring, or the door open, or anyone coming up the staircase. And yet, there is a new person in their flat, or rather, a person who was not there two minutes ago. The new person is looking rather angry, but he isn't brandishing a weapon. He is, instead, clutching a slip of thin white paper that looks rather like an ATM receipt.

Before John can muster a response to the intrusion, Sherlock, who is sitting with his back to the newcomer, replies without bothering to turn around or look up from his laptop. 

"If you're so certain of your deductions," he drawls, "why are you bothering to ask for confirmation?"

John frowns at Sherlock, then looks back at the short, ginger youth standing in their kitchen. The lad looks oddly familiar. Long, thin face, high cheekbones, grey eyes---

John's mouth opens.

"Yes," says Sherlock, who _still_ isn't looking around. At either of them.

"What?" says John defensively.

"Yes, he looks like me. _Yes_ , there's a reason for that."

"Stop being an arse, Sherlock," says the ginger man. To John, the really remarkable thing about this is the fact that the stranger is talking to Sherlock like he knows him really well--and yet, he's also just told Sherlock to stop being an arse, as though he actually thinks there's a chance in hell of that happening. 

"Um, sorry," says John, "but do you mind if I ask--"

"My name's Martin," says the younger man, his expression growing rather apologetic as he stops glaring at Sherlock's back long enough to smile in a friendly way at John. "The overbearing clod who can't be bothered to make eye contact with me is my elder brother." Martin shrugs. "You must be Dr Watson. It's nice to finally meet you."

"Oh. Um, likewise." John stands up to shake Martin's hand. He really is remarkably like Sherlock, apart from the hair, and the fact that he's about John's height. "Gosh, I didn't know Sherlock had…um."

"Another brother?" Martin grins. "A normal one?"

"He's 33 years old, he lodges in an attic surrounded by university students, and he lives off his wages as a removalist despite the fact that he's the captain of an airline, because the airline is too heavily in debt to pay him and he's too addicted to flying to find a better paying job." Sherlock _finally_ deigns to glance over his shoulder, just long enough to sneer at Martin and arch an eyebrow at John. "I don't _have_ normal brothers. As if I would. Don't let him tell you otherwise."

John rolls his eyes. "Well, he's got manners, at least, which I allow probably does make him the peculiar one in your family," he says. "You've probably got a cousin who's an accountant locked in an attic somewhere. What's Sherlock done, Martin?"

Martin flushes, and looks down at the slip of paper in his hand like he'd forgotten about it. "I don't _know_. Well, no, I know what he's done, I just don't know how. Or why."

Sherlock snorts.

"No, _really_ , Sherlock. It's not like you're swimming in ready cash, either. I know for a fact that Mycroft still limits your access to your trust fund. You had to get a _flatmate_ , for God's sake. You used to say you'd rather bathe in carbolic acid than attempt to share quarters with another human being again after university."

"Fifty quid a week is less money than I spend maintaining my homeless network, Martin." Sherlock bends his head lower over his computer and begins typing furiously. "Since you are perpetually poised on the brink of becoming one of them, I thought I might as well cut you in early."

John watches Martin's reddening face, then turns to frown at Sherlock. "Let me get this straight. You're--giving him money." John looks at Martin. "And you're--unhappy about that?"

"He's slipping it into my bank account! Every week, there's an extra fifty quid, and it just says 'maintenance deposit'. No name, just money." Martin throws his hands in the air. "It's--weird!"

"I had a look at the routing numbers in your banking records the last time I broke into your flat," says Sherlock casually. "Perfectly straightforward. Apart from the burglary, I suppose, but it never bothered you before."

Martin sputters. "But--but _why_?"

"Because I also had a look at your cupboards. There wasn't enough food in it to feed _me_ , and as you will no doubt remember, I regard food mostly in the light of a necessary vice."

"That doesn't mean--" Martin is still flustered, but clearly running out of steam. "I am a grown up, Sherlock. I don't need looking after by my big brothers! This is like the time Mycroft hired me to move a potted ficus tree three streets from his office to his flat, and paid me 500 quid!"

John looks away hastily, until he's sure he can stop himself smiling. " _He's_ a grown up," says John to Martin, indicating Sherlock. "Ostensibly, at least. And he needs all the looking after I can manage."

The expression Sherlock turns on him then is an exact copy of the look Martin is still directing at Sherlock. It's like being caught between two mirrors who are reflecting each other, and are really, really unhappy about it. 

"You know what," John says, gathering up his paper. "I'll just go and…leave you two to settle your differences." He tucks the paper under his arm. "Your completely absurd differences, I might add. Since you both clearly need an earthling-to-Holmes translator, I'll go ahead and tell you that Sherlock obviously cares about you, Martin, and while Martin appreciates it, Sherlock, he would like it a bit better if you simply interacted with him on a human level instead of expressing your brotherly concern via misdemeanor crimes."

"Don't be ridiculous, John," says Sherlock, as John turns for the stairs. "Financial tampering is a class two felony."

"And my name is not Holmes!" Martin adds, just before John manages to duck out of earshot.


End file.
